For You
by metameric1
Summary: Daria reaches out to help an old friend, and finds that something she had been searching for was there the whole time.
**So anyway, Daria and related characters are the intellectual property of MTV/Viacom or whomever has acquired ownership thereof. This is a work of fanfiction, strictly for fun and enjoyment, and nothing of any value has been exchanged in its creation. Especially _money._**

 ** _This is a one-shot. Not sure where it came from. Set in Daria and Jane's last year of college._**

 _ **For You**_

 _Coffee already made?_

No weird noises from her roomie's bedroom, not that she'd expected any. Daria was definitely not into one-night stands, and there would have been plenty of warning that some near miracle was about to occur. It would be followed by a period of relative mood stability, interleaved with rabbitty sounds of creaking bedsprings and headboard-thumpery.

Then would come the inevitable clouds on the horizon, and then the breakup.

Not that this cycle was repeated constantly. Mostly Daria studied and went to school or work. It had happened maybe once a year, maybe with a long period of catharsis as she'd lock herself in her room and pound out a story or two. Maybe it was her method, her sadistic muse. Who knew.

"You're up early." Jane yawned, pouring herself a cup.

Daria stared into space, but responded. "Early, late, whatever," she monotoned. The corners of her mouth quirked up for a moment so short that Jane wondered if it was real or imagined.

A plate with a bit of toast sat in front of her, so she'd been up for awhile. Or perhaps she'd never slept at all. Her sleep patterns got kind of weird when she was working on a project. You couldn't tell sometimes; the sweaters she'd taken to lately covered all, even if she'd flopped onto her bed without changing for a few hours of sleep.

Well, not quite all. You could tell that there was definitely a mammal within.

Quinn's color sense was always spot on, and despite her older sisters' not giving a rat's patootie about her looks Daria did look good these days. Good enough to warrant turning the heads of foolish mortals who might be dumb enough to consider the laying of emotional siege against the formidable walls of Fortress Morgendorffer.

Ah, but the prize was worthy, at least to those odd fellows who would consider a pretty girl who apparently wasn't aware of the fact, and blessed with a rapier wit-as desirable. She was funny as hell, if you got her sense of humor.

Still, courting her was serious work.

At least her best friend had loosened up enough to cut her some slack when it came to her own choice of males. She'd never been as willing as Daria was to invest emotionally; she considered herself an independent woman who didn't need the entanglements that a serious relationship entailed. Daria, though, was strictly a monogamous kind of woman; she focused on one serious thing at a time. It worked for her; after all the years they'd known each other, she was still slow to build friendships. She had acquaintances and close friendships, but not much in between. Her interaction with her exes took at least a year and a buffering relationship on the guy's part before she'd begin to open up to them again.

By that litmus, she was close with Mark and Cliff, but still working on number three and four. Okay, _not_ four _._ Whatshisface turned out to be a total _Richard Cranium._

No sign of a number five, at least nothing following long established protocol.

"Boy, you're pretty nosy, you know that?" Daria slid the plate over.

"I didn't say a freakin' word!" _Huh. Toaster pastry. Somebody's in a good mood._

"Exactly. No good humored jabs about me having my sweater on backwards." She smiled enigmatically, which for Daria was kind of redundant. "Speaking of which, I talked to Trent last night."

Jane nearly choked on the bite of toaster pastry.

* * *

"Okay, dude, what did you eat and why aren't you sharing it?"

"You're getting nothing out of me, Jesse."

"Oooh. How's Daria?"

"We're gonna be late if you don't get off your ass."

"You are such a dumbass, you know that?" Jesse checked the pocket of his gig bag, making sure his notes and stash were in good order. "Just give it up already. You're nuts about her and she wouldn't be calling you if she wasn't interested."

"We're friends, dude. And we're gonna stay that way."

"Friends my ass. One phone call from her and you're good for days."

"Whatever."

"Dumbass."

They took Jesse's POS Toyota minivan to the studio. It ran great, and it was cheap because the previous owner's Great Dane had eaten the interior, from the passenger seat to the headliner. It smelled kinda funny too, but hey, painting the insides of the windows flat black with a rattlecan took care of that. Even dog slobber didn't stand a chance against paint fumes.

You couldn't see much of the interior through the front windows, except that nothing of value could possibly be in this rolling dumpster.

They took the small freight elevator and found that they had arrived a little early. Cassie grinned as the two of them poured themselves coffee. She knew that she could count on these boys; they knew their stuff and always showed up when they said they would.

"Coupla changes to the charts, guys," she said as she handed out copies to the session players. "And Manny wants to try a woodshed work-in-progress version of the title track with the full version reprised at the end."

Trent smiled at that. "Lo-fi spring reverb or dry?"

Cassie smiled. "Dry. No distortion to cover your ass, either. Hope you guys brought your A game today."

"Always do," Jesse nodded, leafing through the music.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Jesse, Manny wants you to take that Rick 360/12 home with you and get used to it. Think he's looking for a George Harrison vibe or something." She indicated a beat up case leaning up in the corner with a white tape label by the handle.

"Cool." Jesse stepped over to get the 12-string electric. "Hey, like these strings are ancient," he said, scanning the dates scribbled on the label.

"Trev probably wants you to talk to him about the setup before he puts new strings on that thing," Trent said as he studied the charts for the session. It was going to be a long day. "Go talk to him so it's done by the time we leave."

"Whatever." Jesse got up anyway to go look for the guitar tech.

* * *

"Hey Bookworm," came the gentle voice over her earbuds.

"Hey," she murmured. "How'd your session go on Monday?" She turned off her desk lamp and lay down on her bed. She'd finished her paper after dinner, and had been surfing the internet looking up information that might help him.

"Great. The Producer's really happy with the tracks, although the PA is grumbling about the amount of coffee I drink."

She smiled at that. "Did you taper off towards the end of the session?"

"Yeah, I remembered. And before you ask, nothing after dinner. I was good to drive home."

"What about the ProVigil?"

"I had only one, before the session. You're really helping."

"Good to know." She smiled broadly at that. "So maybe the lifestyle changes and a little discipline in the use of the meds do make a difference. You're making a real effort to deal with this."

"Daria, this narcolepsy has been a weight around my neck for years. I know it's pretty mild, as these things usually go, but you've made a much bigger difference than the meds. I feel like I'm starting to get somewhere."

"Nice to be appreciated," she smiled softly. "Where are we going tonight?" She closed her eyes and let her breathing begin to release the day's stresses.

 _She'd gotten closer to Trent after he and Jesse had left Lawndale for the West Coast. They'd spend time together interacting on social media, at first Trent checking up on his two favorite girls, and Daria pissing and moaning and just generally getting a guy's view of her weird life. Increasingly they began to talk via Skype, finding the nuances of voice richer and more satisfying._

 _He'd begun to see a doctor about his sleeping, thanks to her badgering him into it, and wasn't surprised in the least when a diagnosis of mild narcolepsy was shared. It could have been worse. The treatment was basically a mild stimulant, one carefully developed and tailored to his response. It explained his caffeine habit, which was pretty much a form of self-medication. Still, she knew that some basic lifestyle changes would help._

 _Like sleeping at night and staying awake during the day. Okay, that wasn't fair. A lot of his sleep patterns were deeply habituated, and changing them would be a serious effort._

 _A few talks with a friend who was a pre-med student gave her some ideas._

" _Guided meditations, Trent. Let's try getting you on a kind of a schedule."_

 _The time difference meant that she'd be up late, while he'd had dinner and just finished his shower. For him, it was early, but this made it rather effective. She usually scheduled these sessions on a Sunday night, which meant she had the flexibility to nap earlier in the day to make up the sleep she'd lose later._

 _This let him start his week with his sleep schedule pushed up. It was sort of a weekly reset, and it seemed to be helping a lot._

"I thought we'd walk on a beach somewhere secluded," he suggested. "Nobody else around."

They talked for over an hour, each of them laying back and taking turns guiding each other through the scenario. It calmed them both down, and by the time they broke the connection, each of them was ready for sleep. She loved the delicious way it took her, that strange rippling of consciousness, and the sense of knowing him better. It seemed like a strange form of making love, in a way; they each let the other into their own perspectives.

* * *

It soon became a regular thing for them, something that both of them looked forward to and were careful not to let it be displaced for anything that wasn't absolutely unavoidable.

That was harder for him, since as a freelance musician he needed to concentrate on booking work. He'd turned down a few sessions that he knew would run overtime on Sunday, but fortunately even the studios wanted Sundays off. Gigs usually happened on Fridays and Saturdays.

She was making a real effort to help. He would have to be a total jerk to not respect that, and besides, if he were to be honest with himself, Daria taking this seriously made him feel like he was somebody.

She picked up the power cord clipped to the side of her nightstand and plugged it into her phone, put in the earbuds and settled back in the darkness.

"Hey, Bookworm." She could hear him smiling.

"Hey." She fussed a bit with her pillows, which had been piled up for reading in bed after her earlier nap. "Good week?"

"It was. Had a gig on Wednesday, covering for a friend, so it was a late night. I slept in Thursday, so I didn't miss sleep. The studio session that day started in the afternoon and we wrapped at eleven. No napping, honest."

"Keeping to your med schedule?"

"No coffee or PV six hours before bed," he said proudly. "You're taking the time to help, and I appreciate it."

"You're worth it, Trent." She smiled. It just came easily when she talked to him. He was getting himself together and doing well.

"Are you coming for Jane's graduation?"

"And yours, Daria. You know that. Got it blocked out on my schedule."

"Be good to actually see you. It's been awhile." She smiled again. They kept the lights off for these sessions, since the whole point was meditiation and relaxation. The video image was noisy in the low light, but she could still kind of see him in profile. His phone, like hers, was in a holder on his bedside table. They were laying side by side in the digital night.

"Long walk, summer night in the countryside?" she suggested.

"Someplace upstate New York, late sixties," he nodded.

"What is it with you and patchouli?" she laughed softly.

"Warm night, light breeze. Leaves underfoot, some kind of faint aromatic scent, maybe apple trees, and tall grasses in the air. We're getting tired, so we lay back on a blanket, on a hillside and look up into the night sky," he murmured. "Out this far in the countryside, the Milky Way is clearly visible, a pale sweep overhead. It's like looking out a porthole, and I reach out and grab your hand so I don't fall off the earth. There's millions of stars around us."

She took a slow breath and picked up the narrative. "I turn my head to the side, and I can see your profile even in the dark. After a moment I realize it's because I'm seeing the stars around your head…we're adrift in the night sky. I grab onto your hand tightly so we don't lose each other."

"I get my nerve up and pull you tight. I hold you with both arms, and you do the same thing, and we look out into space over each other's shoulder."

"Can you feel me breathing?"

"Yeah, you're breathing slowly and deeply."

Daria smiled. "There's no air in space, Trent."

"This is a guided fantasy, Bookworm. Don't give me a hard time, we still have clothes on."

"Pervert." She had to smile at that one.

He chuckled. "Just for that, we're naked."

"This is supposed to be relaxing, Trent."

"You smell good, Daria," he purred.

"Stop it, you."

"I hear you smiling," he teased gently.

"This is supposed to be meditative," she mock-scolded him. "Not phone sex."

"Party pooper."

It was gentle fun, even if it verged towards the randy sometimes. No matter what, though, it was clear that they each cared deeply about the other. Daria loved these sessions- it made her feel close to him, without any threat at all.

She pushed the thought of him against her skin away for now and focused on the quiet. It took a long time.

She could hear his breathing slow and deepen.

"Gotta go, Trent. Goldbergs ready?"

"Love you, Daria." She could see him reach towards her, touching the screen of his phone. Bach's _Goldberg Variations_ began playing softly in the background.

"Love you too, Trent. G'night." She rolled over and pulled a pillow close without thinking too hard about it.

* * *

Jane yawned as she made her way to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea. Her graduation was the next day- okay, later today, that afternoon. Finally, it was over. She passed in back of the couch that Trent was laid out on, wondering if the kitchen light would be in his face if she switched it on.

Nah. He'd sleep through that.

She tore open the last Chamomile teabag and let it brew. Four long years since Lawndale, and now she had her degree. Maybe she'd follow Trent to the West Coast. BFAC's rep might open some doors, and her portfolio was exceptional.

But what was Daria going to do? They'd supported each other for seven years, but it seemed like a lifetime. If they parted ways, she would miss the little misanthrope.

Aww, that was unfair. Daria had grown a lot. She'd mellowed out in her old age. She was a lot more flexible these days.

Who knew where life would take them? Wherever it was, Jane hoped that Daria would be near.

She lifted the teabag out of the cup, letting it drain before dropping it into the trash. The tea was still a bit hot, so she headed back to her room, mug in hand. She detoured slightly to check on her brother.

Wait. Where the hell did he go?

His sneakers were still next to the empty sofa, and the pillow Daria had let him use was gone. Looking out the front window, she could see his rental car still outside. She put her hand down on the sofa. It was cold.

And why was Daria's door almost closed?

She paused, peeking in. She couldn't help herself.

They were both asleep, laying close together. And as far as Jane could tell, that's all that they had been doing. Weird.

She was fast asleep when Daria closed and locked her door at seven in the morning.


End file.
